


The Sixth Day

by niciasus



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niciasus/pseuds/niciasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warrick and Gil's day off from work.  Originally published prior to 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sixth Day

Warrick swung the black Tahoe into the parking slot. He then quickly turned the steering wheel, swerved out, and braked. The truck jerked to a complete stop. He flung his arm on top of the seat he sat in and, while he looked backward, he eased the truck into what Gil considered a rather tight space.

Gil knew the moves by heart and somewhere between the swinging out and backing in, he’d turned his head toward the window on the passenger’s side.

“You can look now.” He heard the laughter rumbled deep in Warrick’s throat. It sounded more like chortling if he really wanted to put a name to it.

“I think I’ve aged 10 years since we’ve been together.”

The chortling grew more robust. “No you haven’t, baby. I think you look quite dapper.”

Gil decided to let the “baby” endearment pass. All the same, he gave Warrick the “don’t you start” look.

“Are you sure? I can take you back home,” Warrick said, suddenly. His arm was wrapping around the steering wheel as he twisted sideways to face Gil.

“Won’t you miss your appointment?” Gil appreciated Warrick’s concern, but he’d made his decision earlier and wanted to be with his lover.

He flipped his arm and looked at his watch. “Sure, but I can always make another.”

“No, that’s okay. We don’t spend enough quality time together.”

“Yeah, and I can think of a hundred different ways of spending quality time, baby.”

“Warrick. There’s approximately a 15 years gap between your age and mine – as in I’m your senior to your junior. Do I look like someone’s baby?” He gave him what he hoped was a serious look and, adding for emphasis, “How many times must we have this discussion?”

“Really.” The head tilted back, the eyebrows rose, the lips twitched, and that sparkle in his eyes that told Gil everything he needed to know. Gil breathed an exasperated groan. Loud enough for Warrick to understand he was a pain in the ass.

He could just see them now: walking down the street and this hunky six foot black man calling him “baby.” He could imagine the more than likely disgusted stares they’d get from bystanders. Not that Gil cared. It was just that he was too damn old for the endearment. He knew Warrick loved jerking his chain. Gil obliged him and adored him just the same.

“Let’s go,” Gil said, and shook his head at his lover.

~~~~

He noticed the moment Warrick pressed his hand to the small of his back as if he needed protection, when in fact the gesture brought him nothing but warmth.

The second thing he noticed was the smell: heady, musky scent seeped through his nostrils. Part sweet, part spicy, and the unfamiliar fragrance tickled his senses. Taking a deeper breath, he discovered he liked the fragrance. A pleasant odor, the scent set the tone and blended well with the ambiance of the place.

Warrick pointed out a spot and told him to have a seat in what appeared to be the waiting area. He then strolled over to the receptionist’s desk and gave the girl his name. Gil slid through the narrow aisle opening, toward an empty seat among a slew of black, utilitarian chairs wrapping around the walls, forming an L shape. To his right, sat two black women engaged in conversation. A young black woman and a little girl waited on the other half of the L shape, which faced toward him.

Warrick came back, and sat down in the chair next to Gil.

“How long will you have to wait?”

“Not long. She’s usually prompt,” Warrick said. He sprawled in the chair and his long leg pressed against the side of Gil’s knee.

“Didn’t know the she would be a she.”

“Griss, do you realize how messed up that sounds?”

A girl walked out into the waiting area. Her eyes landed on Warrick. She seemed young and good-looking, even younger than Warrick.

“Come on back, Warrick,” she said.

He stood and looked down at Gil. “See ya…” His mouth twitched slightly, his eyes gleamed, and Gil knew.

“Don’t.”

Warrick started laughing as he walked away.

Gil settled in his chair with a journal he’d brought with him. He had no idea how long this would take. He became curious about the times Warrick was away from him, particularly on their days off from work. He wondered who was he with and what did he do. This need to know was as intrinsic to his nature as having food for nourishment. It was the reason why he was a scientist.

At first, he felt he was invading Warrick’s privacy with his curiosity and, then he realized that he didn’t need a reason to be with his lover. Warrick wanted him there. Gil wanted to experience everything about Warrick even if it meant just sitting, waiting, and doing nothing.

~~~~

The hair salon was really quite quaint.

Whoever designed the shop had a mind for efficiency, practicality, and an eye toward aesthetics. Gil thought the results came from the owner. He remembered Warrick telling him how his friend had struggled gathering funds to purchase the building and renovating it into her dream shop.

He had a narrow view of a long and open space broken into individual areas for each hairstylist on each side of the room. Neutral colors of black, beige and white exuded comfort. African artwork positioned at strategic spots gave the shop a sense of culture. And for the clients that were coming and going, a table sat in the middle of the waiting area laden with magazines, flyers, business cards, and other sorts of promotional items for their reading pleasure.

Several times during his wait, a hairstylist would drift into the area. She would take one look at him and ask could she be of service. Each time he told the person he was waiting for someone, the stylist would look at him strangely. He hid his smile. Gil could well imagine what they were thinking.

He spent the time checking out the scenery. Watched how the young stylists styled the hair with nothing more than their fingers and a comb. He saw how they parted the hair in sections, and turned each section into an impressive and elaborate hair design. It amazed him – the time, the effort it took, and how it was done without the use of a single curling wand.

New clients would arrive and for some reason, they wouldn’t sit next to him. He saw how they scrutinized him with questioning looks. Some of them would frown. Others pretended he wasn’t there. The little girl, however, kept staring at him like he was a bug on the wall. She seemed sweet with those deep, ebony eyes of innocence, probably curious about the man that sat across from her with skin as pale as the white of her eyes.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he was ever that size?

He whispered to her, “Hi.”

Her arm held up close to her body, her small fingers bent and waved at him as if they were in pain.

He really should feel uncomfortable. Instead he felt wonderfully wicked and not in the naughty sense but more like full of mischief. Neither Shakespeare nor Robert Frost nor John Donne offered him words of wisdom. Gil couldn’t find a single aphorism describing his current thoughts and feelings. Maybe, he could purchase books on African fairytales and proverbs that could give meaning.

But if one more person asked him “how could they help him,” he vowed to start sprouting verses from Othello. At least one person in the place would understand. Even though he was obviously too busy sitting in a big, black, swivel chair, receiving service, and pampering by his stylist in ways that made Gil narrow his eyes.

Gil’s favorite subscription, the Journal of Entomology, which he was reading with half his attention, fell to his lap. He took a good look at the scene unfolding before his eyes.

The stylist trailed a finger down Warrick’s soft beard and across his lips. Well, really, he hoped it was his moustache. She was talking to him softly, whispering in his face with a glow on her face. Warrick laughed. The sound sent chills down Gil’s spine. He didn’t like the closeness he saw between them.

Gil considered taking a walk. He caught himself and thought how that probably wasn’t such a good idea when he caught his lover’s actions. Warrick had extended his hand to the girl, placing his long, brown fingers into her clutches. She grasped them, turned the hand over with the palm out and then back again. Gil saw her pat her bloody red tip claw on Warrick’s fingertips.

Maybe she had a logical reason for the display. Whether she did or not, wasn’t important – he just wanted her to stop the flirtation.

~~~~

Warrick now sat under the hairdryer. Gil wanted to burst out laughing. She’d styled his hair in little twisting things, held together with styling gel. They looked like little worms swirling over his head, and Gil, with great difficulty held back the chuckles. Too bad he’d left his camera at home. The pictures would’ve been priceless, perfect fodder for bribery.

Some men spent loads of money on sports or buying expensive beer. He, himself, had a luxurious chess set at home. Now he knew his lover spent his money having his hair done. Gil shook his head at the absurdity – which was really no worse than his sitting there at all.

The hairstylist – and Gil still admired the work involved in what Warrick called “natural hair” styles – walked leisurely over to the receptionist desk. Two other co-workers followed and they gathered into a huddle.

“Yo, I saw you, girl. You had it goin’ on.”

“That dude is fine.”

“Yeah, sister. He sure is. I wonder if he’s a free man?”

“Tried to get the brother out on a date.”

“And?”

“He said he was taken.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you?”

“What’s his name?”

“Warrick. I think the brother works for the Police Department Crime Lab.”

“Oh you mean like that show CSI?’

“You mean he’s a police officer?”

“I think so.”

“No. I guess he would be a scientist.”

“That brother, no way. He’s just too suave to be a nerd.”

Then one of the girls said in a sudden epiphany to the other. “Oh god, do you remember the time we went to that jazz club? There was that awesome piano player?”

The shorter girl said, “Oh yea… I wanted to smut him.”

“Well, that was him. He was fantastic.”

Warrick’s hairstylist couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “You’re kidding! He never mentioned that to me. You just wait until his hair dries. I got a few words for him. Then maybe I can squeeze a date out of him.”

“No way. I’m gonna…”

Gil stared at the girls in awe of their conversation. Obviously, he’d no idea the working of young women’s minds.

~~~~

About a half hour later, Warrick stood in front of the receptionist desk paying off his bill. Gil was glad. Although the event gave him an interesting learning experience, the idea of home looked good about now. He wanted to smut his lover. He thought, feeling the upward curving of his lips and the beginning of arousal.

Warrick looked handsome. Those twisty things in his hair had been untwisted. His hair fluffed in the usual wavy style, and the red highlights reflected a shine. Gil got up and walked over to the desk. Their shoulders brushed together. Gil snuck in a quick slide of his leg against Warrick’s side.

The hairstylist asked Warrick for a date. He only gave her a smile.

Warrick turned his head and looked at Gil. “Hey you.”

“Hey yourself.” Gil placed his hand on his lover’s back and slowly slid it upward straight to the nape of Warrick’s neck. He spread his fingers through the bottom part of the hair. Fondling and gently swirling the strands, he felt the soft curls as they grazed against his skin. “You look good.”

His reward was a broad, cheeky grin and mischievous, sparkling green eyes for a response, and Gil couldn’t help it. He rose up on the ball of his toes and Warrick bent down, kissing him on the lips. It was short, sweet, and it said hello.

The hairstylist whispered, “Oh. My. God.”

Gil thought. Not God, he’s simply mine.

End


End file.
